Between the worlds
by MistressMaliceMalfoy
Summary: Mortality fading, like the innocence of love. Will you remember? Will your heart sing with pain? What of my soul? Maybe some HBP spoilers
1. Seconds of anger

Disclaimer-I dont own anything that you recognise, theyare JK Rowling's, the goddess that she is.   
Ill be writing this at work, and then typing it up when I have my days off, so PLEASE, be patient if I dont update more then once a week. 

"You insolent boy. You truly thought that I wouldn't know?" the voice, while quiet, carried across the entire area, everyone in the circle could hear perfectly.

The speaker was robed, and hooded. All that could be seen of his face was the eyes. Red points of burning hate. Right now, they were full of not only hate, but anger as well.

Lord Voldemort did not accept disobedience, especially not of one so promising.

The person who was receiving the lecture cringed at the words being flung at him. He was robed-like everyone else in the circle-but was the only one on the floor, bowing before his master.

"No disobedience will be tolerated" Voldemort said, the red in his eyes flashing with more anger. He raised his arm toward the death eater.

"Crucio"

The death eater, who the curse was thrown at, shuddered and convulsed on the floor in a heap. His limbs dances around as the pain coursed through his body.

The other death eaters watched, knowing their brethrens pain quite vividly. The circle they stood in was quite large. The amount of death eaters had grown, once the dark lord had made himself publicly known. And, of course, after Dumbledore had been disposed of.

Suddenly, the twitching stopped, and Voldemort lowered his arm, bringing his wand with it.

"Learn well from this lesson, and do knot repeat your mistakes." Voldemort looked around the circle, taking each member into the depth of his eyes.

"All of you learn from this as well. You are dismissed."

One by one, the death eaters left, 'pops' issuing from various places until there were two death eaters beside Voldemort.

"He is progressing nicely. You have done well in training this one." Voldemort said, watching the huddle, still unable to get off the floor, move away.

"Thank you, My Lord." The silky voice beside him said from beneath the cowl of his hood.

"I have my lingering doubt thought" the dark lord continued, moving his eyes from the huddle, to his masked companion. "He did not perform the killing curse, as instructed, thus, he is not a true death eater. This task must be completed, and soon. See to it."

The death eater looked at the huddle as it tried to move, tried to get out. After a few moments, the huddle finally succeeded and, with a long look at the watcher, departed with a small 'pop'.

The remaining death eater removed his mask, his large hooked nose framed by black curtains of greasy hair. He sneered.

He was supposed to help this whelp upstart? He would rather kill the poor sod, and be done with it. However, one did not willingly go against the Dark Lord. Not anyone that wanted to live, at any rate.

End transmission 


	2. The nobodys

Disclaimer- All recognized characters, and places (London not included) are JK Rowlings. Not mine. 

The figure stood black against the full white moon. The stars shone white in the black sky, illuminating the ground with an eerie intensity. It was past midnight and anyone watching the figure would wonder why it hadn't moved for hours or, perhaps, why it was there in the first place.

However, none were watching the lone figure on the hill.

The figure had been completely still, up until this point, when there was a heave of the shoulders, as if the person was carrying a great burden. The heaving went on for a long while, as if the person was letting something out, and stopped as suddenly as it began.

The next movement, which came moments later, was a throw. The figure had thrown an object, with all his might, and turned away from the moon. His hood had fallen in the process, and the light glinted off silver hair. With what appeared to be a sigh, the figure walked down the hill, away from the object that he had thrown.

The object, if anyone had gone to look at it, was a white mask, which by coincidence or not, looked like those worn by the Death Eaters.

He walked across the fields, towards his family's castle. The moonlight glinted off his white blond hair, making it glow in the darkness, in the likeliness of a halo. Of course, he didn't make this connection, nor would anyone else who thought they knew the boy.

Rather then going directly to the castle, Draco moved towards the garden, which his mother tended, refusing-even scorning-the help of the house elves. The garden was beautiful-day or night, with its abundance of roses, holly, orchids, lilies and belladonna. It truly was breathtaking, and, for Draco, calming. He felt more at peace within the confines of the garden then in his own house, which seemed infested with bad memories, determined to haunt him. The Muggles had a term they used, for things like this. "Skeletons in the closet." Draco thought it sounded appropriate, but not quite enough for himself. He decided that it should read "rotten flesh covered corpses in the dungeon" when concerning him.

He had had a lot of ugly things happen in his past, and he was ashamed to admit any one o them. Truth be told, he hated the whole damn pureblood culture and society. They were nothing but a bunch of inbred power hungry useless shells. They weren't people they were-what did the Muggles call them? Robots. Unfeeling robots that obey anything, which appear to have more power then them. His family was not exempt in the least. While his mother wasn't nearly as fucked up as his father, they both made him sick. Heartless bastards.

Draco turned away from the garden. He was tired, in more ways then one, and wanted nothing more then to sleep. He turned towards the castle, dreading the rest of his miss-begot life.

Hermione looked out the window of the bus. She was on her way back home, from the Dursley's, visiting Harry for the day. They had much to discuss, and to practice. Luckily, Harry had just had his 17th birthday, thus becoming an of-age wizard. They had both practiced defensive spells, and jinxes knowing that they would need them soon enough. Too soon, more then likely.

Hermione was excited to get home. Her aunts, uncles and cousins were all visiting them for her parent's family reunion. It was held every 5 years, usually in England, and was nothing something to be missed. She hadn't seen any of her American and Canadian family since she started Hogwarts-which they only knew as a special private school in the country. She couldn't wait to see her favorite cousin Sara, from Canada, who loved books, and reading as much as she did.

She pulled her hair out of her eyes, and turned back to the book that she was reading-Protective spells and potions.

Sometime later, Hermione arrived at her top. She stepped off the bus, putting her book away in the process, and turned north towards her house.

What she saw made her blood freeze, and her heart stop.

The Dark Mark. Above her house. Her family!

end transmission 


	3. Loyalty

Disclaimer-Im not JK Rowling, nor do I own her characters. Maybe in a past life I did, but not this one. 

Hermione ran towards her house, pushing and shoving anyone, quite rudely, who was unfortunate enough to get in her way.

Maybe she wasn't too late… Maybe she could still save them…

Hermione had to hope, if, for no other reason then to not fall down in a fit of despair, and tears. Oh, and shock too, she added mentally. She had to keep herself moving, had to see things with her own eyes before she could accept the worst. Even though, she knew in her heart, that the worst was what would most likely meet her.

She got to her two story, typical suburban house, and flung the gate open. She didn't notice the hinge that broke off with the sheer amount of force she used, nor, if she had noticed, would she have cared. She couldn't, and wouldn't stop. She needed to go on.

She slammed into the front door with abandon. Her wand was in her hand-although there was no conscious memory, or even thought of doing so.

She stopped dead.

Her entire view was of bodies. Everywhere. Not a single one of them was moving.

Her aunt Scillia was on her stomach, arms outstretched, towards something just out of Hermione's line of view. She couldn't, and, most likely, didn't want to see what the thing was, her subconscious remembering her mother mentioning her aunt's pregnancy.

All over were bodies. The bodies of her family. Her past, her future.

The only sound was of her own heartbeat, which, she was sure, could be heard from all the way down the street. So empty, so silent. Admittedly, her house was always on the quieter side-compared to the burrow, but this was so quiet, it was loud.

She wanted to run away from all of this, make it all not real, as if it didn't happen. But she couldn't.

She needed to see this in its entirety. She knew that it was real and that they were at war. This thought didn't make things any better for her.

Hermione walked into the house further, walking over the dead bodies, not wanting to disturb them. The dead deserved to rest in peace.

Aunt Joanne, Uncle Andrew, her cousin Xian. Her whole damn family, gone. Wiped out completely. They all ceased to exist, all except her.

She continued onto the top floor, tears streaming unnoticed and unchecked down her face. She couldn't help it.

She stopped, and fell into a heap on the floor. Her parents. Her father holding her mother in an almost protective embrace. Sobs wracked her small body, leaving her weak and feeling completely helpless.

She didn't know how long she sat there crying. It could have been minutes, could have been hours. The sun had gone down, the lights in her house needed to be turned on. But she couldn't do it. Not only because she didn't have the strength to get up, but she didn't want to see her family all dead in the harsh light.

She had to get up, had to get help.

Slowly, Hermione got up off the floor. She didn't quite know what to do at this moment. She, the brightest witch of her year, was at a complete loss of what to do. She decided that someone of authority should be called, but she didn't know if she should call the Muggle police, or the aurorers, and, if the latter, she lacked the fireplace to do so.

After some deliberation, she decided to call the Muggle police first, and then to call Harry. He would come, see her, and he could contact Mr. Weasley, who would know exactly what to do.

"Please state your emergency," the cool voice on the phone said.

"Um, it isn't an emergency per say" Hermione said, not quite sure of what to tell them. She decided that bluntness was most likely the best way to go. "My house is full of dead bodies. My family" she trailed off.

The conversation after those words was a complete blur to Hermione. She was asked questions and answered them, completely automatically. It seemed as if her brain had shut off. The conversation was over as soon as it had started, or so a mighty distressed Hermione thought.

Soon enough, she was dialing Harry's house.

"'Mione, is that you?" Harry's voice carried through the phone.

"Yeah, Harry it is." She paused. To be blunt, or not? "Harry. I need you."

Silence.

"Hermione, what in Merlin's name are you talking about?" Harry said, sounding confused.

"My family, the Dark Mark. My house." She sobbed. "The Muggle police are on their way." She shuddered, wondering whether or not she made sense to Harry.

Apparently, she did.

"I'm going to floo the Weasley's, and then Ill be right over." Harry said urgently. They hung up after saying quick goodbyes.

Hermione sat, and waited. She knew that someone, be it Harry, or the police, would show up soon.

The police arrived soon after, and guided her outside, away from the carnage that was her house. They taped it off, the yellow shining brightly off the full moon. It was too bright, too jarring, to Hermione.

A kind looking woman gave Hermione a blanket, which was odd, since it was summer, and led her to a place to sit. She asked questions, some Hermione could answer, and some she couldn't. There was no question about one thing though. Hermione was in complete shock and had nowhere to go.

Harry showed up sometime later, completely unnoticed by the police. He walked up to Hermione, and put his arms around her small body, cradling her.

She wept again, like a child, the sobs wracking her body.

"Harry, what on earth am I going to do now?" she whispered.

end transmission 


	4. Inbetween Days

Disclaimer-I am not JK Rowling, although I wish I were.

The next few days passed in a complete blur for Hermione. A mass funeral was being planned, mostly by Mrs. Weasley, who was beyond sympathetic and, strangely enough, Mrs. Dursley.

No one, not Hermione, not Harry, not even Mr., Dursley knew why she was doing it, but, in the wake of such a tragedy, no one disputed her involvement or even her motives.

Hermione, in her more coherent moments, was extremely grateful for everyone's help. She knew that she couldn't do this on her own, especially not with the amount of grief that she still felt. It would pass, she knew, with time, but for now it was still like a cold knot of pain that took up her entire chest. It was still too new, too fresh. She had, of course, managed to thank everyone involved in the planning, and all the people who helped her, but she felt it was inadequate. She would think of something for a better thank you later on, when she wasn't hurting as much.

Harry, Ron and Ginny were supportive as well. One of them was around her constantly, not trying to cheer her up, but to just be there to listen, and for comfort, should Hermione ask for it. Ginny proved to be quite adept at properly gauging Hermione's moods, feelings and wants. She also seemed to know what to do, and say during each.

Ron, on the other hand, was a complete wreck at the whole comfort thing. While his emotional range had gone from teaspoon to tablespoon, he was still at a complete loss of what to say. He did try though, and Hermione knew this, and she was grateful nonetheless.

Harry was more a combination of the two. He was adept at gauging her emotions and moods, but he hadn't a clue of what to say. He was, however, the only one who knew what it was like to have no family. The two of them grew closer together during this time, despite the fact that, every now and then, Harry stuck his foot in his mouth. He never made her cry (like Ron had) but he didn't sooth her as well as Ginny.

Hermione was staying with the Weasleys, in Ginny's room, until something could be sorted out for a more permanent basis. She did, of course, now have an entire two-story house to herself, but she didn't want it. She knew that the memories would haunt her, and besides that, the house was too far way from any wizarding community to be of any use. Furthermore, there was entirely too much room in that house for just one Hermione.

The Weasley's would, of course, keep her for as long as they could, but Hermione didn't want to become a burden, especially with the stress of the war, the upcoming wedding (which, for Hermione, seemed wildly out of place) and Mr. Weasley's job at the ministry.

She wasn't totally sure, she needed to weigh out the options, but she thought that selling the house, as well as all the belongings, would be the best thing to do. Not only would she then have money, but also she wouldn't have to deal with the bad memories that would plague and haunt her every night. She would think it through soon, but after the funeral, when there was less work to be done. Maybe that was when the healing would begin, so Hermione could get on with her life.

"Draco, dear, don't tire yourself out." Narcissa Malfoy's voice came through the veranda. "You have a meeting tonight. But I'm sure that you knew."

Draco paced the garden, occasionally running his hands through his white blond hair, and completely disregarded his mother.

He was deep in thought. Things had been happening recently and he wasn't sure what to make of them. Firstly, from what he heard, his father has escaped from Azkaban, along with a large number of other Death Eaters. That thought almost frightened him, but also confused him. If his father had escaped, why hadn't he contacted Draco, or Narcissa? This is what confused him the most.

That was the main thing on Draco's mind, but other things cropped up occasionally.

The Death Eaters, minus himself and a few other new recruits, had attacked Mudblood Granger's house a few nights previous. Apparently, they had wiped out the entire family on one shot. Not one survivor, not even the cat.

Draco knew that he should be happy that the only person who was smarter then him was dead.

But he wasn't.

The thought came up; Draco had an ice-cold feeling in his stomach. He wasn't entirely sure, but he had the sneaking suspicion that this was the feeling of regret.

He continued pacing, which he could tell vexed his mother. She, while more observant than his father, never truly knew her only son. He knew that he loved her, and would do anything to protect her, but it was more out of family respect. He knew that he loved his mother, but he also knew, and totally accepted, that he didn't actually like her.

His father, potentially, escaped. The only person-a witch and a mudblood no less-smarter then him dead. This feeling of regret, tinged with sorrow. His 'missing' death eater mask.

He certainly had a lot of things to think about.

And, if the first point was true, then not a lot of time to think.

end transmission


	5. The Rememberance Ballad

Disclaimer- I am not JK Rowling. Maybe in a past life, but I guess I didnt do too well, now did i?

The morning came, gray and cloudy. Rain would be making an appearance this day, but to all at the Burrow, it seemed appropriate.

The funeral was today. It would take the whole day, or at least, the better part of it, burying a total of 34 people in one day. The entire Granger line. Save one.

Hermione bustled around, ducking flying pancakes-a trick of the twins-maneuvering between people, and the general clutter of things.

Despite the Weasley twin's antics this morning, Hermione knew that they were sorry for her, and respected her enough not to be completely rude. In fact, the night before, Fred had found her behind the broom shed, crying, and he held her close for an hour, offering his condolences.

Breakfast was eaten in relative silence, for Hermione's sake. No one should have to deal with this kind of tragedy, especially not someone as good hearted as Hermione.

They drove to Muggle London, the rain beating down finally. They were given cars by the Ministry again, but not for Harry's sake. The Ministry, in fact, seemed to have a personal vendetta against Harry, seeing as all this "chosen one" stuff hadn't gone away. It had, if anything, increased after Dumbledore's death.

No, they got the cars after Mr. Weasley threatened to quit. The entire Weasley family had been so proud of him for finally standing up to the Ministry that they had disregarded the fact that he had almost lost his job.

The service was held in the funeral home, rather then a church for a few reasons. The main one was that they couldn't find one that would fit all the caskets and, also, neither Hermione nor her parents had been particularly religious.

There were a lot of people in attendance. Most of the Grangers patients, friends and about half of the wizarding community. While Hermione never thought herself popular, her entire year-save the Slytherin's, were there, offering condolences, places to stay, as well as more hugs then she could stand.

Neville actually showed up with a bunch of flowers-some she didn't even recognize.

"I'm so sorry Hermione. My Gran says that if you need anything, you can come talk to us." He smiled slightly, while giving her the flowers. This was, most likely, the first time he'd ever given a girl flowers.

The service was long-2 hours at least, and many people spoke for the Granger family, including Mrs. Weasley and Mrs. Dursley. While what Mrs. Dursley said was extremely touching (especially considering she had only met the couple twice) it still didn't give any clue as to why she cared so much.

The burial was, surprisingly, rather quick, considering. They were there for three hours, paying their final respects for both the Grangers, and Hermione.

Eventually, the crowd thinned, people sick of the drizzle, and wanting to get to the reception, which was being held at the Granger-now Hermione's house.

She decided that it would be not only the best, but easiest place, since she had a somewhat concealed fireplace for the wizarding community, and all the Muggles knew where it was, or at least, how to find it.

Hermione sat at the grave of her parent, silently crying. She knew that most people were either at her house, or on their way there, but she didn't care. She knew that someone-most likely Mrs. Weasley, or Mrs. Dursley, would play hostess, and make sure that everyone was looked after.

"Hermione" came a voice behind her. Hermione turned. Harry, Ron and Ginny were there, huddled under a black umbrella.

"Are you coming, or do you need more time?" Ginny asked, ever the observant one.

"If I could have some more time alone…" Hermione trailed off, knowing that one of them would refuse, saying that it was dangerous.

"Sure, 'Mione, we'll give you more time, but if you aren't back in half hour, we're coming back." Ginny said, holding both boys by the arm, leading them away.

That was defiantly not what she expected.

But she wasn't about to complain. She needed this time alone, to mourn, to grieve and, hopefully, to begin to heal.

She sat at her parent's graves, thinking of her life ahead of her, and of the happier times behind. She had always known that her parents wouldn't live forever, and that she would have to deal with their loss, but she hadn't thought it would be this soon. She didn't think that her entire family would be wiped out.

She would heal. Eventually. She just needed a good cry to get things going.

She continued to sit on the graves, crying. The freshly dug dirt would stain her clothing, she knew, but didn't care. She cried for her future, her past and for her family.

She didn't know how long she had been there, but had a feeling that her half hour was up when she heard the 'pop' of someone apparating a few feet behind her.

She looked up, expecting to see Harry, or maybe Ron. She defiantly wasn't expecting Draco Malfoy.

By the look of things, he seemed equally surprised to see her.

She was at a complete loss of what to say, if anything. She decided since he was the one who apparated in on her, and he was the one that interrupted her little cry fest that he should be the one to say something.

"You're alive" was all that came out of his mouth.

It seemed an odd thing to say, especially since Draco wasn't known as being Captain obvious.

"Yes, yes I am. Good of you to notice." Hermione said, defiantly confused on a few matters.

"I thought that, since the…" Draco trailed off, not sure of what to say. The truth, or something else? Granger was smart, he decided, and deserved the truth. He continued.

"I thought that, since the death eaters wiped out the rest of your family, that you'd be dead too"

Hermione looked at him, noting the way he worded things.

"The Death eaters? Draco, last time I checked, you were one." Hermione said, still completely lost in this conversation.

"Well, not exactly, not that its any of your business" he snapped. "I actually wasn't aware of what happened until after the fact. I had nothing to do with the massacre."

Hermione, again, noted the use of his words. She was beginning to understand, but not all things were clear.

"Then what, pray tell, are you doing here now?" she asked, widening her arms to encompass the graves.

Draco was silent for a few moments, regarding her. She was on her knees, in front of two graves, wearing a long black dress-a long cloak over top, her honey brown eyes were red rimmed, but shining, her bushy chestnut hair was tied back, but still bushy because of the rain. She was, without a doubt, beautiful, in the most natural form.

"I came to pay my respects." He said.

With that, he placed a bunch of flowers on her mothers grave, turned around, and apparated away.

end transmission


	6. Changes?

Holy crapballs batman! Its been forever and a day since Ive updated. Im so sorry about the wait, should anyone care. Ive been really busy with that reality called life. Ill try to be ore prompt, but i guarentee nothing. 

Anything you see tha tbelongs to JK rowling obviously belongs to JK Rowling. See the connection? 

"Damn. She's alive." Draco muttered. "Not, damn, she's alive, but Arg!" Draco was clearly frustrated. Draco did not like being frustrated, not in the least. In fact, he despised it, especially when it didn't make any sense.

He was pacing his mother's garden again, although completely alone this time. His mother was off visiting Bellatrix-or so she had said when she had left. Truth be told, Draco didn't really care where she was or whom she was with, as long as she wasn't bothering him, or causing trouble. The scents of the flowers, and the open air soothed him, or rather, would have soothed him, if he weren't so agitated.

Why did she have to be alive? Not that he actually wanted her dead, or even maimed, but this further complicated those feeling that he had had before, when he was under the impression that she was good and dead.

He felt nervous, as if his insides had turned to worms whenever he thought about her. He didn't like this feeling, not in the least. The thing that bothered him the most was that he didn't know _WHY_ his insides went all schizophrenic on him whenever the thought of her popped up. His stomach jumped and danced whenever he thought of her, picturing her big honey eyes, tears clinging prettily to her long lashes, looking at him.

Damn emotional bullshit, he though, wishing-not for the first time-that his emotions could be turned off or, at the very least, be used selectively, when it suited his purposes. His father had this ability, but as to whether it was a good thing or not was still up for debate. Draco leaned more towards the not.

But as to what he felt for Hermione-wait… Hermione? he didn't know. Thus, Draco didn't know what, exactly, he didn't want to feel for her.

Draco rubbed his head. He could feel a headache-a migraine actually, coming on. He would need a headache potion soon, judging by the pounding in his temples. He just hoped that there was some potion already made.

He made his way back to he castle proper, reconsidering. Maybe, if he needed to make the potion, the complicated instructions and measurements would keep his mind off Hermione. That was it, he thought. He would make the potion-whether it was needed or not, as a distraction.

Although, whenever he pictured her smiling face-which was never actually directed at himself-with those big beautiful eyes, and rosy lips, he wondered if he really wanted the distraction.

Hermione sat on a chair, near the kitchen table. She was surrounded by her friends, and well wishers and piles upon piles of food. It seemed as if every single guest had brought something-under the impression that Hermione was a starving beggar, she had guessed, who needed fattening up. To top it all off, Mrs. Dursley and Mrs. Weasley had already catered the entire event. There would be leftovers for weeks.

Hermione joined in conversations when she was obligated to, and answered questions and assured her friends that, yes, she was doing alright and that, no, she didn't need alone time at the moment.

And it was true. Hermione felt better once that cry at the cemetery was over and done with. It might have had something to do with Draco's arrival, but she felt stronger about the whole thing.

She hadn't told her friends about Draco's visit, and she didn't think that she was going to, either. Not that she enjoyed keeping things from her best friends, but she didn't think they needed to know. He had told her rather personal things, she thought, and the last thing that he-or she, for that matter, needed was Ron, raging about in a huff about nothing, or Harry coming up with conspiracy theories about why he was really there.

But, Hermione had believed Draco-every single word of what he had said rung true. There was no trace of a lie in his icy eyes. Not once.

She was, for the most part, a fairly good judge of people and, while she didn't trust-or even like-Draco, she could tell that he had truly been bent out of shape over things.

She just didn't know why.

"Hermione, you still with us?" Harry asked, startling her out of her reverie.

"Yeah, Harry, I am" Hermione replied. She smiled at him-a genuine smile. She finally believed that she was.

The reception was as successful as a reception for this many people could be. Hermione, as she knew she would, got stuck with more leftover then she could shake a stick at. Not that she wanted to shake sticks at good food, but it seemed an appropriate analogy.

She gave as much food as she could to the Weasley's, and the Dursley's (when she said Dursley's, she meant Dudley) and the rest, that she couldn't give away, would go to the homeless. They had a pickup/delivery thing in the city, and they took care of everything for her.

After all the guests had left, she, the Dursley's and the Weasley's cleaned the house. She had announced that she indeed wanted to sell the house. Mrs. Weasley would help with everything, since she was not only Muggle, but also lived close by.

Hermione went to bed that night at the Burrow, feeling better about the whole thing. She still desperately missed her parents, and family, but this was something that would lessen over time, she knew.

The only thing that kept her awake-and only for a few extra moments-was the thought of Draco, standing over her mother's grave, offering flowers for the dead.

end transmission 


	7. Preperations

Disclaimer- I am NOT JK Rowling. Never have been, most likely, never will be. 

Again, Im sorry for the wait. I lost the thread of where I was going with this, but, clearly, found it again. 

The weeks passed quickly for the trio. Between studying, practicing defensive/offensive spells, Quidditch (Hermione used this time for more study) and helping the Weasley's, Hermione barely had any time to think about Draco and his weird (for lack of a better word) visit.

Her house hadn't been sold yet, but she had already decided on the items that she would keep. She, Mrs. Weasley and Mrs. Dursley spent one full day a week sorting through things, deciding on a "keep", "sell" and "rubbish" pile. There was need, later on, for an "undecided" pile when they came to Hermione's old school books. Thus far, the sell pile was the largest. There wasn't much that Hermione want/needed, but couldn't let it rot in a rubbish heap.

Hermione also knew that she COULDN'T keep a lot of stuff. She looked for a flat-and found one that she liked-but upon further speculation, decided that she didn't need one. She would be at Hogwarts for the next year (they had convinced Harry that the younger students needed them, and to go back part time) so it would have been pointless, and, quite frankly, a waste of money. Instead, she would put her belongings into one of those storage units until she needed them. Her house would, hopefully, sell within the next few months. Not that she needed the money, but she didn't need the responsibility.

" I know that you've all been busy, dears, but are you all packed for Hogwarts?" Mrs. Weasley asked at breakfast one morning. It was nearly time to go back to school-their letters had come a few days beforehand.

Of course, not one of them was. Nor had they even gone to Diagon Alley-which, of course, Mrs. Weasley knew already.

They all lowered their heads-a sure sign of guilt.

"Diagon Alley it is then. We'll leave in an hour. You lot better be ready" Mrs. Weasley finished, placing the last of the toast on the table.

After a flurry of showers, cleansing spells, and near collisions on the stairs, they-Hermione, Ron, Harry, Ginny and Neville were ready to go. Neville's gran had gone off visiting a childhood friend, and, in these dark times, the Weasley's were asked-not to baby-sit per say, but watch over while she was gone.

They took the floo to the Leaky Cauldron, which was virtually empty. Since Voldemort started killing in vast quantities again, people were -understandably- staying at home a bit more often.

The group went to Gringotts first, being not only searched at the door, but they had to walk through detection gates. They-sans Neville- had already known about the new precautions from Bill, so it was no surprise.

They each took separate cart, to make things faster. Hermione was still amazed at how, well, FULL her vault was. It wasn't like she had lacked funds or anything, but she always had had just enough. Now she was in awe at the piles of galleons, Knuts and sickles there was.

Her main concern was S.P.E.W and books. She could buy everything in Flourish and Blots, if she so desired. Not that she did, contrary to what most people though. She had absolutely no use for love potions, or romance books. Those were trash. Complete and utter rubbish.

They all met up in the entrance and checked their lists. New sets of books, of course, Ginny needed new dress robes (having filled out even more over the summer), Ron needed new robes, and they all needed new quills and parchment. Hermione also wanted to look at the apocrathy, citing a list of spell components that she desperately needed.

They planned their course- wanting to make this trip as quick as possible to avoid danger-and set out.

They hit the Apocrathy first, Hermione knowing what she needed, the quality and the quantities of each ingredient.

From there, they headed to Madam Malkins Robes for every occasion.

Hermione perused the racks, but she didn't need anything. She tried to look for Ginny, but she seemed to be doing more then fine on her own.

"You're trying ALL of those on?" Mrs. Weasley cried.

"Well, of course, Mum." Ginny replied, snatching a silvery-grey one off the racks, and adding it to this already large pile on her arm. Hermione moved away, and missed the rest of the conversation. She walked around the store, touching things here and there, but not seeing anything that she simply NEEDED.

She was restless while clothing shopping. It was one of the things she hated most in life.

She looked around the store. Harry, Ron and Neville were occupied-Ron on the stool in new robes, which Harry made the bottoms fly, exposing his hairy freckled legs to the entire store, which Neville was rolling around the floor laughing.

Ginny and Mrs. Weasley were altering and critiquing dress robes that Ginny had chosen.

Hermione shook her head, and walked to the door. She needed fresh air, danger or no.

The door closed behind her with a small "thud". It was absolutely beautiful out, and, despite the danger, people were bustling about, doing their shopping. The sun was out, large white puffy clouds littered the deep blue sky, and there was a slight cool breeze, which hinted at the coming autumn. The air was warm, but fresh and smelled of lavender and marigolds.

Hermione felt herself relax-although she was completely unaware of having been tense- in the beauty of her surroundings. She looked around for a place to sit, preferably a bench, to wait for the Weasley's at.

She found one, but it already had an occupant. A white-blond haired occupant.

'Ah, fuck it' she thought. "I need answers, and a place to sit. Why not kill two birds with one tone?' With that, she walked towards the Malfoy occupied bench.

"Lovely afternoon" she said, sitting lightly on the bench.

Draco jumped nearly a foot in the air, surprised. Hermione giggled. Draco, once righting himself on the bench once more, sneered at both her giggle, and her presence.

"What do you want, Granger?" he spat, trying to hide his emotions. He was sure that he did a good job, noting the slight disappointment in her honey eyes.

He was, in all actuality, pleased at her arrival. Or, at least, of her presence. She was as beautiful as he had dreamed her to be, during those long nights. The fact that he dreamed of her surprised even himself, for, up until this moment, he hadn't remembered a single one of the dreams. He just knew that, somehow, the nights didn't seem as long, or as cold.

The sun glinted off her hair, highlighting the golden strands, caught within their chestnut depths. It reminded Draco of a fire, but one that was good, rather then destructive.

'God. Fuck. Crap.' He thought.

" I want to know why you were there at the cemetery during" Hermione faltered. While her grief had faded, it wasn't gone, and still stung. "During the funeral. Of my family."

Draco studied her. He could tell that she did indeed want the truth as to why he was there. He could see the curiosity mingled with pain and grief at the mention of her family, burn in her eyes.

"I told you before, Granger. I was there to pay my respects" Draco said, standing up. He wiped imaginary dirt off his pants, and turned to face her.

"Contrary to popular belief, Granger, I do have some morals. And a conscience." With that, he turned and left, leaving a confused-and for some fucked up reason-guilty, Hermione alone on the bench.

end transmission 


	8. You lived it well

Sweet crap. I know, Im a jerk. But, here you go. Im on a creative tangent again. Enjoy.

Disclaimer-I am not JK Rowling, however much I wish I was.

* * *

The rest of the time at Diagon Ally went was almost completely uneventful. Things went almost exactly as Mrs. Weasley has planned them, which, truth be told, surprised just about everyone. A few things, of course, went a tad askew, but nothing major. A little more time here, an extra trip there, but little else.

When they arrived at the Burrow, laden with packages, they all separated into smaller groups- Hermione and Ginny, and harry, Ron and Neville. They wanted to go though their stuff, and, basically, waste the rest of time before dinner that evening.

They were leaving for Hogwarts the next day, and wanted to do absolutely nothing for their last day home. Well, everyone except Hermione, of course, but she always seemed to be a bit off.

Instead of doing nothing-which actually turned out to be a game of Quidditch- Hermione finalized everything involving her house and the belongings inside of it. It was heart wrenching to sign over the deed to the care to Mrs. Dursley and a realtor. She knew that she would never ever want to be in it again, but she felt like this was the final step of growing up. The final step of letting go of her parents and her childhood. Often, at night, when Ginny was sleeping soundly beside her, she wondered if she was up to this. Did she really have the strength for this?

Sometimes, she didn't know.

Besides all of the housing things that needed to be figured out, there was also the bank. Luckily, she, and her family, had had the same bank for year, and were well known within the smaller company. Her parents financial manager had actually come to the funeral, and seemed more genuinely upset then some of Hermione's friends who had come.

She had been given the rights to all of her parents accounts, and had it merged with her own. She was actually rather shocked when she saw the amount of money they had. She knew that they weren't lacking, but didn't quite realize how well off they actually were. She's already with-drawled a rather large amount, and converted it into wizarding funds.

By the time all the phone calls (made possible from Harry's borrowed cell phone, which the Weasley's, most especially Mr. Weasley had found fascinating) and e-mails (the beauty of Muggle technology, more specifically, blue tooth capabilities) were done, she was completely exhausted.

Besides that, she also needed to pack, which she would do after the dinner that Mrs. Weasley was calling them all for.

The entire Weasley family, plus Fleur, Neville, Hermione and Harry were attending this dinner. It was the last day of summer, and was, for some, to be something to celebrate. It was also Bill and Fleur's engagement party for the family. No one had bought gifts, deciding to do so after the war was at an end, or, for the wedding, depending on whichever had come first.

They were all hoping for the end of the war, but, none of the party were too hopeful.

Soon after the group has finished the first course of the meal, which was full of turkey, steak and kidney pie, chicken, salad, and smoked vegetables, Mr. Weasley stood up, and tapped his glass.

"Ahem. I hate to interrupt was is, undeniably, one of the best meals Molly has put together, but I simply must." Arthur put his glass down, and continued his speech."First off, Id like to give a warm welcome to Fleur, our newest Weasley. Welcome to the family!"

At this, there was scattered applause, and cheers. Bill gave her a look that clearly said 'told you they liked you'. Fleur blushed a nice crimson, before lowering her head.

"Id also like to congratulate Hermione on becoming Head girl." At this, herm ione nearly chocked on her pumpkin juice. Head girl! And when, exactly was she going to find out!

Arthur blushed at this, realizing that she hadn't gotten the letter, which had come separate from the usual Hogwarts letters. He rummaged around on the counter behind him before pulling out the letter and handing it to Hermione. She read it very quickly, not really taking much of it in, knowing that the entire table was watching her with interest.

She felt the envelope, and pulled out the golden badge, which clearly stated that she was Head Girl. She beamed with pride, knowing without a doubt that her parents would have been so proud. It made her so happy,. knowing that she had finally done what she always wanted-besides pass with flying colors. She was also sad, knowing that she would never be able to tell the two people that it mattered most to.

She smiled up at Mr. Weasley, and the rest of them, wanting to make sure they knew she was alright. She knew that they worried about her, with good reason mind, but that didn't change the fact that she hated when people worried about her.

Arthur, seeing Hermione put the badge down, continued his speech "Finally, I'd like to remind all of you to be careful. He who must not be named is killing in numbers again, and now that.." he choked a bit at this part "now that Dumbledore is gone, Hogwarts might not be AS safe as it once was."

Arthur looked around at all the children, his and, what he considered, the adopted pair. They were an adventurous bunch, but smart enough.

"Take care of each other, and send your mother and I owls every week."

Mrs Weasley was nodding through his whole speech. At the end, she looked around, and, a bit weepy, said "Everyone of you, even if you aren't my own, I consider you to be."

With that, the speech was over. It was shorter then they had all expected, however, they all knew the danger, had been living with it for years, in fact. They were greatful that Mrs. Weasley has managed to hold herself together that well.

After dessert-homemade ice cream and pumpkin tarts, dinner was over, and the before school rush began anew. The last time, for most.

Hermione bustled about, packing the rest of her things, and picking out clothing for the train ride there- black and white pin-stripe Capri and a black off the shoulder tank top. After she was done, she went around the Burrow, for anything that might be hers. She would hate to forget something, and have Mrs. Weasley have to owl it over.

She found a few things, mostly things that were borrowed and not properly returned, and was carrying them up the stairs to the second floor when she was stopped by Mrs. Weasley.

"Sorry to mention this, my dear, but I haven't found a better time, and, well, I know this isn't the time either, but..." She handed Hermione a small velvet box. "I know that you should have this before you leave. Take care of it, my dear." With that, Mrs. Weasley turned around, and went back down the stairs.

Hermione rushed up the last few steps, and threw the extra things on her bed. She opened the box, very curious why, of all people, Mrs. Weasley would have given her a jewelry box.

Inside was a ring, one that she recognized instantly. It was her mother's wedding ring. White gold with ruby and emerald twisted together into a teardrop. The jewel was tiny-her parents hadn't had much money when they married, and, by the time they did, her mother simply refused a different ring. She called it her good luck charm.

Hermione put the ring on, a tear sliding down her face, unchecked, unnoticed. She was smiling, however. Mrs. Weasley was right. There hadn't been a better time, but she was happy that she had it. It made her feel whole again.

* * *

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	9. A beginning

I am not JK Rowling, and, anything that looks like hers, most likely is. Review if you would like.

* * *

The next morning was a blur of activity. People running up and down stairs, various states of dressed, toast half eaten. Trunks were all carried down, getting in the way of everyone else. All in all a chaotic mess, just like every other year. Luckily, no major accidents happened. Minor ones, including a missing toad (Trevor, of course), a bruised elbow (Ron's) and a trodden toe (Harry's) are, of course, expected when transporting 5 teens, 5 trunks and 2 owls.

At half past 9, they all piled into taxis-they only needed 2 this time, thankfully, and off to Kings Cross. The ride was uneventful, even though the drivers DID look a tad surprised to be transporting real live owls, and they arrived at Kings Cross at half passed 10.

In small groups, so as to not attract the Muggle's bustling by, they crossed the barrier between platforms 9 and 10. Hermione, Ron and Harry went first, followed by Ginny, Neville and Mrs. Weasley. Mr. Weasley couldn't make it because of work. It was especially busy at the Ministry due to to upswing of Voldemort and the Death eaters activities. Bill wasn't able to get the time off work, and both Fred and George had to be at their shop. The beginning of the school season was always busy at Weasley's wizarding Wheezes, with late students, and older siblings buying Skiving snack boxes for the poor unfortunate students, to be owl'ed as soon as parents weren't looking.

The sight of the train made the entire group feel happy, and, in Mrs Weasley's case, relieved. Not that she wanted her children to go, but, they were much safer at Hogwarts then at the Burrow, or Grimmauld place for that matter.

It was, for the most part, their last year. It was both sad, and liberating knowing that they weren't going to have to do this trip again. They would, in a years time, if things continued as they were, be joining up with the Order of the Pheonix and be able to really help the wizarding community. It was sad because, for both Hermione and Harry, Hogwarts had become more of a home then anywhere else. They felt that the 6 years had gone by entirely too quickly, that this was too soon for them to be in their last year.

These thoughts were brushed away at the site of some of their house-Dean Thomas and Seamus were waving at them from one of the trains compartment. Neville and Ginny hugged Mrs Weasley, Neville thanking her for everything, and started dragging their trunks towards the back of the train, where Dean and Seamus were.

"Come come now, dears, best get going" Mrs Weasley said distractedly. "The trains leaving any moment now."

She herded the trio towards the train, after Neville and Ginny. They dragged their trunks, which, like themselves, had grown over the 6 years at Hogwarts. Hermione and Ginny both had some problems getting their trunks-which seemed heavier then the boy's-up the stairs and into the compartment. Harry and Ron came to their rescue, however, and got all the trunks stashed away quite nicely.

They hung their heads out the window, to say goodbye to Mrs. Weasley, but they weren't the only students. In fact, not one platform facing window was devoid of students smiling faces.

"Owl me when you lot get there! Take care of Ginny, and yourselves, and BEHAVE" Mrs Weasley shouted over the other families, so that they could hear her.

The train puffed some smoke, and started trundling down the tracks. Some of the younger siblings ran after the train, while mothers and fathers just waved from their places.

"Bye mom", "We'll be fine", "Thanks for everything Mrs. Weasley!" came the shouts from the window.

When the platform was out of view, the group turned back towards their compartment, to enjoy their last trip on the Hogwarts express.

* * *

The trip couldn't have been any more different for one Draco Malfoy, Slytherin Prince extrodinaire.

He was woken up by his house elf, Tinky, at 9:00. He changed into his breakfast things (one simply could not have a meal in pajamas, not in this house) and went down the 3 floors to where his mother was enjoying her tea and grapefruit. Heaven forbid Narcissa eating something even remotely filling.

"Good Morning dear" Narcissa said sweetly, not even looking up from her copy of the Daily Prophet. "Back to Hogwarts today."

Draco mumbled something completely incoherent in response, while he buttered some toast. He had slept badly that night, terrible dreams haunted him, rendering him unable to sleep properly. He remembered little of the dreams, but what he could remember was fragmented and disturbing, even to one related to Lucius Malfoy.

Narcissa continued, most likely not even hearing her son's mumble. "I've contacted the Ministry of Magic, and the fireplace in your bedroom has been connected, with much difficulty I might add, to Hogwarts. You shall leave at 2:00 to get there early. You will not be staying in the Slytherin common room, mind you. Head boy and girl have their own set of rooms."

"Mother, thank you. Did you find out who was Head Girl, by chance?"Draco asked, thinking he knew who it was, but hoping, dreading, confirmation of such suspicions.

"No, didn't even ask, dear" was the response.

Draco continued his meal in silence. There was nothing more to say to his mother. They never had anything in common, nothing to bind them together, despite all the hard times they've had to deal with. There were times he wished that he could have been closer with his mother-and his father for that matter, but it seemed to be the way of the pureblood, Voldemort following families. As much as he disliked the Weasley's, he was somewhat jealous of their closeness, and cheerful upbringing. That didn't change the fact that he would never be able to do with so little money, but it made him more lonely at night, whenever he thought about it.

Finishing his meal, Draco stood up from the table, and, bowing to his mother, left the dining room. He walked up to his room, which, to be honest, was more a wing of the castle then a mere room. He had a bedroom, a parlor, a bathroom, his own library and a study. All the rooms were decorated in silver and green, although not by his choice. The quarters had already been decorated after his parents released him from the care of a nanny-witch, which was his almost sole company for the first 6 years of his life. He had, of course, absolutely no say in the decoration of his rooms, and could not change them to colors that he preferred.

Draco stripped himself of his breakfast clothing, and walked to his bathroom, looking forward to a nice long soak, his last in his own home. He detested the ones at Hogwarts, citing them as too small and unsanitary.

After his bath, he put some clothing on-black dress pants with a white collared shirt of the best materials, and finished packing his trunk. He laid out his school robes-brand new, of course, on his already made bed, and went to his balcony, to enjoy the view of Malfoy Manor.

He was disturbed only a few moments later by his mother.

"It is time for you to leave, Draco. Behave yourself, study hard and make sure that absolutely no one, not even those of your House, see your mark." Narcissa said, pecked him on the cheek as she would Bellatrix, and left his room without another word.

Draco considered what his mother said, and, sighed, once again wishing that he and his mother were closer. He moved his trunk towards the fireplace, put his school robes on, threw some floo powder into the fire.

"Hogwarts school"

* * *

end transmission 


	10. Square 0

Im not JK Rowling, although id love to be. I just took her stuff out to play, thats all.

Longer chapter, enjoy.

* * *

The window showed passing mountains, greenery and blue sky for miles. It was wonderfully sunny beautiful day-one that most of the students on the Hogwarts Express would rather be outside on. Mind you, there weren't nearly as many students as previous years. About half, if one was to place a wager. Not that Hermione, who's mind these thoughts were passing, was one to wager. Nope. She was smart, and, frankly, not poor. She didn't need the money, and knew exactly why there were fewer students.

Professor Minerva McGonagall, scratch that, Headmistress Minerva McGonagall was not quite as powerful as Dumbledore had been, and everyone-she included-knew it. Not that it was a big deal anymore, Voldemort hadn't shown any interest in Hogwarts-save Harry-since Dumbledore was killed.

Hermione turned her face towards Harry. He was taking the death better then he had Sirius', but there were still dark smudge under his eyes, and, when he thought no one was looking, looks of grief crossed his face. Hermione knew them for what they were-grief, anguish and loneliness over someone who meant a lot. She knew them well because they marred her face often.

Ron. Harry and Ginny were talking about Quidditch, of course. Hermione had absolutely no interest in it whatsoever. In fact, she would rather be lectured by Professor Binns, the ghost that taught History of magic then hear all the inticicies that are involved in the perfect Quidditch play. Sometimes she felt so removed from her friends, this being one of those times. She wished that someone was around her intelligence level, and actually enjoyed intellectual conversations. Not to say that her friends were dumb, because they was just not true. They just preferred Quidditch to arithmancy, or anything else even remotely interesting to Hermione.

She sighed, and tried to pay more attention to her friends conversation. Or, at least looking like she was paying attention.

Harry heard Hermione sigh, and stumbled over what he was saying about a new Quidditch move. He looked her way, while still talking to the others. He was worried about her-had for long time now. There was the death of her entire line, the death of Dumbledore the previous year, and, Harry thought this was the killing blow, the realization that school didn't truly matter this year, that the fate of the wizarding world-and the Muggle one-was at a crossroads.

He knew that Hermione could take care of herself-she was the best witch of the year, not to mention the previous decade- but, thats what best friends were for. Ron was doing fine, all in all considered, but Hermione, he wondered sometimes, whether she was faking being alright, or, if she actually was. he suspected a bit of both. He also suspected there was something she wasn't telling him. He figured it was nothing important. If it were, she'd tell him.

With that confident thought, he turned his attention back fully to the conversation, and was happy to see that Hermione has joined, or rather, had attempted to join. She was clever, just not about Quidditch.

* * *

Draco walked into his new rooms. The floo was designed to transport him right to his room, so as to not interrupt the teachers, Mr. Filch, the caretaker, or, the headmistress. They were still busy getting the school ready for the arrival of the students, despite the fact that there were so few returning. More wards, and enchantments were in place this year. No one had any illusions as to why this was. Everyone knew that Potter was "the chosen" and was coming back.

Draco rolled his eyes at that thought.

Potter.

Draco had mixed feelings about him at this point. He had happily hated and loathed him for the first 6 years of school, after being snubbed so harshly. His hatred had only increased after he was, time and again, outsmarted, outplayed and (he hated to admit this) outwitted. He had finally gained the upper hand in fifth year, when Umbridge was Headmistress, but that was a short lived victory.

He was, once again, confident this past year, when he had outsmarted him by getting the death eaters in the school. Again, this was short lived, once he realized how terrible of a mistake he has made. This was the one thing that Draco regretted the most in life, and knew it would haunt and torment him for the rest of his sad existence. Not that Draco had any plans of his life being long lived, of course. Once the Dark Lord figured things out, his life would be forfeit. He only hoped that he had a chance to somehow, in some way, make things right again.

Which brought his thoughts back to Potter. He _knew_ that Potter must have been there when Snape killed Dumbledore. He wasn't sure where he had been, but there were 2 brooms that night in the tower, and, logically, how else would he knew to give chase to Snape that night? He knew that Dumbledore's death was his own fault. He had brought the death eaters in, he was supposed to kill him, but lost the nerve. Upon deeper inner inspection, he knew that he never would have killed him. Despite everything, he respected Dumbledore, even liked him.

Ultimately, Draco knew that, somehow, he had to help Potter. Maybe not in a big way, but at least give him some sort of advantage over the Dark Lord. Maybe, just maybe, he would be able to die peacefully.

He wondered, ideally, what Dumbledore and Potter had been out doing. It must have been important to leave the school at night, important and dangerous enough for Dumbledore to come back hurt, perhaps even dying.

Draco shook his head. These thoughts would get him nowhere. He was back at school, in a new set of rooms, and wanted to get organized before the head girl showed up.

* * *

Hermione fingered the ring on her finger, watching as the students filed onto the horse-less no longer carriages. She has the sneaking suspicion that she wasn't the only one who could see them now, noting the gasps of students.

The ride to Hogwarts was the same as always, except that there were several more Auror's, half as many students, and a less cheerful attitude from the older students. It seemed as if no one was pleased about Dumbledore's murder.

When they arrived at the castle, Hermione, Ron and Ginny found seats together in the Great Hall, and looked up to the teachers table. Many of the faces seemed sad and melancholy. There were a few new teachers this year. Obviously, one for Transfiguration, since McGonagall would only be teaching NEWT's, and, like every other year, a new Defense against the Dark Arts teacher. Professor Slughorn had agreed to stay at Hogwarts, seeing reason in Dumbledore's death. He was, even still, safer at Hogwarts. Not only would he continue to be Potions master, he also was staying on as the Head of Slytherin.

The DADA teacher looked familiar to both Hermione and Harry, but neither could place her. She had short dark blonde hair, bright green eyes, and a long scar running down her left cheek. She was talking to Professor Sprout, who seemed fascinated by the conversation.

The Transfiguration teacher, however, was not familiar at all. He was older, perhaps 50, with black hair, smattered with white streaks. He looked distinguished, and intelligent. Hermione wondered if he was as good as McGonagall.

The door opened at that moment, admitting the new first years, a small bunch, lead by Hagrid. Since Professor McGonagall was Headmistress, she had given that duty over to Hagrid.

The sorting began, after a few words from the sorting hat, which seemed to be as affected by Dumbledore's death as anyone else. once the sorting was over, Professor McGonagall stood, and called for attention.

"Welcome back, and welcome. I will not say much right now, but Id like to introduce our new DADA teacher, Professor Crysania Majere." scattered applause "And Professor Alan Do'Urden, who is taking my place as Transfiguration teacher" more applause."I would also like to thank Professor Slughorn for continuing to stay at Hogwarts, as Head of Slytherin and potions master." more scattered applause followed. "Tuck in"

The students ate with a vengeance. When the feast was over, McGonagall stood again, and dismissed them all with warnings of the forbidden forest, new rules from Filch, and a reminder of the new security measures taken for protection of the students.

Hermione followed the students out of the hall. She stopped when she felt pressure on her shoulder. She turned and faced her Head of house.

"Miss. Granger, as Head Girl, you have your own quarters with the Head boy. Ill direct you to them."

The pair walked towards Gryffindor tower, but veered off half way there. They talked about the summer, and the new security measures that were in place.

"Here you go, my dear. Everything should be in order. Good night" and with that, McGonagall was gone.

Hermione turned towards the portrait, which was a wood nymph in a rich forest background. The nymph looked at Hermione, who looked back at her.

"The password is, for the moment, fizzing whisbys."

Hermione jumped, looking around her. The voice was definatly not one of a nymph! She spotted him just down the hall. Draco Malfoy.

The new head boy was Draco Malfoy, of all people. This was going to be along year.

* * *

end transmission 


	11. Interlude

Disclaimer-I am not JK Rowling, never have been, never will be. Although, I admit, Id love to be. Alas, this is not to be.

Shorter chapter, and not AS much action. Mainly plot building, which is always good. Enjoy!

Hermione wandered around the head's common rooms, wondering at the beauty and sheer spaciousness of it. It was huge! Her bedroom alone was the size of her former common room. The decor, admittedly, surprised Hermione, who was expecting the patented gold and red. To her delight, however, it was a rich midnight blue and silver, which instantly soothed her mind and emotions. The four poster bed was larger then her previous one in the Gryffindor forms, and the fabric was much softer, and luxurious. Across from her bed was a vanity, complete with an oval mirror, frosted at the edges.

Hermione briefly wondered if Draco had the same vanity, seeing as, normally, there wasn't a difference between male and female rooms.

To the right of the bed, against the wall, a few feet from the balcony (balcony?) was a large cherry wood desk. It was beyond beautiful, with ornate carvings around the edges. She wished, for only a few seconds, that she had her digital camera with her, but discarded the thought, knowing that, even if she remembered it, it wouldn't work around the magic.

She wandered around some more, finding her trunk, which she unpacked. Toilitries in hand, she went to find the bathroom, so she could finally get to bed. She was completely exhausted, the day having lasted, what seemed like forever.

Her bathroom, which came off a niche in her room, housed a shower, and a bathtub, which gleaned black marble. The fixture and accents were a shining chrome, the floor tiled black. The overall effect was breathtaking. Hermione put her things away, and set to brushing her teeth, and doing her face. She would just shower in the morning. It was just too late for that kind of thing.

Draco watched as Hermione, the new Head girl (such a surprise) marched up to her room, not even bothering to say goodnight. He hoped that the year wouldn't always be like tonight. It would be frustrating and, quite frankly, tiresome to deal with an uncooperative woman. Not that he generally had that problem, in fact, they were usually more then cooperative to the point of creepy and stalker.

He shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts. He was thinking about the Head girl way too often since the night her family was murdered. He wondered at that, but could not, for the life of him, come up with a logical answer. There were a few illogical answers, but, Draco was a man of logic, and rejected those thoughts. He pushed Hermione, with her beautiful hair, and intelligent amber eyes out of his mind.

His thoughts went, rather predictably, to the "other woman" in his life, if either could be considered to be IN his life, Pansy. He recalled the look of complete shock on her face when she entered the Great Hall for the feast. She, like a lot of students, weren't expecting him back that year. Truth be told, he wasn't entirely sure he would be allowed back this year, considering the events of the year before.

"Draco?" Pansy had shrieked, making sure that absolutely everyone in the entire great hall knew he was there, and had not been on the Hogwarts express.

She had run into his arms, giving him a bone crushing hug that was entirely uncalled for. She had seen him only a few weeks previous, for dinner, by invite from his mother. Damn the woman. She was convinced that Draco and Pansy would marry, and produce a heir. Fat chance. Truth be told, he couldn't stand her, and her clingy-ness.

She had, of course, asked as many stupid pointless questions as she could, but he was having none of it. He point blank told her to shut up,. and to stop asking stupid questions. She looked like she'd been slapped, but that only lasted a few seconds. She had smiled, and cuddled next to him, saying that she knew how he felt, and she would make it all right.

Crazy broad. She had to be delusional to think there was anything to base that assumption on.

Actually, the both of them had to be crazy, since both Pansy and his mother harbored notions that they would b happily married.

Not if he, Draco, had anything to do with it. He had ideas that he would have a harem of sorts, and, most likely, die alone. That is, of course, if he lived much longer. He had already incurred the wrath of the Dark Lord, and, most likely, his father. It was only a matter of time before one of them killed him.

Draco walked up the stairs leading to his own rooms. Despite living in a castle, he was impressed with his lodgings. They were big, spacious and very well furnished. He was, initially, surprised at the color of the decor-midnight blue and gold-but he much preferred this compared to the traditional green and silver. He was beginning to loathe those colors, especially when they were paired together exclusively.

He sank down on his bed, stairing at the blue canopy above him. Merlin, he was exhausted. He was sick and tired of being something he wasn't. Or, rather, pretending to be something, while hiding his underlying self. He wondered if he was even pretending anymore, if what he thought he was was only a lie, but instinctivly, he knew otherwise. He knew something wasn't right about the world, both of them Muggle and Magical, and the views that he had held for so long. Views that were foistered upon him by his father. Draco had believed them all, swallowed them up, trying to impress someone who could not be impressed, which Draco found out too late in life.

He only hoped he could escape before tragedy struck. Hoped he could right his wrongs, for there were many to fix.

Draco stretched from his bed, and shook his white blond hair. It was time for bed, which meant, time for a Dreamless sleep potion. It was the only way he got any sleep these days, and, even then it was scattered and fragmented.

If he could remember his dreams, then at least he could do something about it, but, alas, he could not. He remembered feelings, and impressions, but that was all.

He was, at times, thankful that he could not remember-the feelings and impressions were enough to terrify anyone senseless. Yet, he knew that some sort of answer awaited him within the nightmares.

He just needed to reach out and grab it.

If only he wasn't as weak as he was.

end transmission


	12. Silence

_Disclaimer-Im not JK Rowling. _

* * *

_"Draco ,you will follow me. You must obey me in all things. The only person more important then me is, of course, the Dark Lord."_

_"He has disobeyed a direct order, he must be punished."_

_"Of course we aren't going to send him to Durmstrang, who knows how they will treat him!"_

_"Crucio""_

Draco woke with a start. He was soaked with sweat, and breathing heavily. The nightmares had come, despite the potion. Perhaps he had taken the wrong dosage?

No, Draco was careful and thorough with this kind of thing. Not only that, but he had been taking the potion for long enough to know what he's doing.

He sat up, puzzled. The dreams still haunted his thoughts, but more abstract then they had been when he first awoke. He was dreaming, and that was the problem. The other problem was that he was completely exhausted and, as a passing though, worried. He knew that, once or twice, before he started the potion, he would scream in his sleep, bringing his house elf in a panic. Did he scream this night? If he had, would Granger come?

Draco quieted his breathing, but heard no sounds from the common room, or beyond. He relaxed-no one had heard him, if he did, in fact scream.

He got out of his bed, and went to where he had his potions, wondering if, perhaps, he had been too tired to take the proper amount.

No. He had no did anything wrong, but, upon further inspection, found marks on the bottle in which he kept the potion. This was the bottle from home.

He set it aside, deciding to talk to Professor Snape, to see if something was amiss. Until then, sleep. He hoped that he was too exhausted to dream anymore.

* * *

Hermione woke, with the feeling of having missed something. She hated waking up this way, but, it had become more common after her family's massa cur. It was a passing phase, she was sure of it, but couldn't wait to be rid of it. It was the most annoying thing ever. 

Besides the head boy, of course. Even if he wasn't, you know, _him, _he would still be annoying due to the fact that he was purposely not answering her questions. By question, she meant why he was at her family burial.

The thought still bothered her, caught her off guard and rooted itself in her brain, refusing to concentrate on what she was actually doing. She had to distract herself during these times, and hope that she would get her train of thought back when she could continue working.

No, she thought, she would not jump onto this thought train so early in the morning, She had entirely too many other things to do. First, and foremost, a shower. Then, coffee. Perhaps some breakfast, depending on how she felt after the coffee.

She grabbed some clothing to wear under her robes-under things, a pair of black knee length shorts-since it was still warm-and a white tank top, and hopped into the gleaming black bathroom. Her shower was quick, and smelled of ginger and bergamot. She dressed quickly, and went to the vanity. She had asked Professor Dumbledore the year before if she could have a charm that would make her CD player work. He had, thankfully, given her one, and she hit the "play" button.

Without warning, loud music blared from the small machine. Portishead, her favorite for the morning time.

She picked up her brush, and looked at her hair. First things first, she needed a smoothing serum, which helped untangle her unruly curls. That done, she ran her brush through, carefully, trying not to rip or shread her locks. Admittedly, she got frustrated sometimes, and just ripped it apart, but she was trying to be better about it. It wasn't like she could grow another head of hair anytime soon.

After getting all the tangles out, she separated the two sides, putting them each in a loose elastic. In turn, each side was braided down the side, to the back of her head. She let her almost bangs (pieces that were ripped and to short to fit in) form into curls around her face. She looked back to admire the view, and, was satisfied.

She quickly put some makeup-powder, eyeliner and mascara-grabbed her school bag, and dashed out the door. She turned back, half-way down her stairs, when she realized that she wasn't wearing her robes. She pulled them up, and ran out the door, hoping that she would make it in time for breakfast, she was hungry now, and despretly needed coffee.

She was just heading towards the heads door, when she saw Draco. Now, this in itself wasn't stop worthy, she shared quarters with him, of course she should expect to see him. What made Hermione pause, made her stomach twist in knots of panic and fear was the look on Draco's face. And, that he was wearing only boxers.

"Draco?" she said tentitivly, wondering what in the bloody hell was going on. She hoped that he was going to be alright, or, perhaps, rebuke her for using his first time, or some such thing. Something that would ease her fear and worry. She _knew_ something wasn't right. She could feel it in the air, and it prickled her skin, making it goose bump.

She started shuffling towards him, slowly. She didn't want to startle him, but, clearly, something big was wrong.

"Draco?" she said again, louder this time.

After getting no response, again, she sped her steps slightly, the gut-wrenching fear growing stronger and tighter around her insides, making them crawl. Which, on an empty, coffee-less stomach, was certainly not pleasant.

She reached the couches- which, shit noted, she hadn't even seen the previous night, and peered down to the crimson couches, and, to Draco.

Her heart stopped.

Draco was curled in a ball, swaying back and forth, eyes darting every which way. She couldn't tell if he was awake and trapped in some sort of personal hell, or asleep and dreaming. She had known people to sleep with their eyes open, and, the Malfoy family would be likely candidates, knowing what she did of their history.

She tapped his shoulder "Draco?".

No response.

She tried shaking him (which, upon further thought, seemed rather pointless, since he was already doing that himself)

Still, no response.

The fear and panic intensified, she had never known such fear in her life-not even when she saw the Dark mark above her house.

Her mind ran through a list of possible things she could do, and, finally decided to floo the Headmistress. The fireplace in the common room had access to her rooms via floo, in case of emergencies. Thank Merlin, too.

She ran to the fireplace, still clutching her school bag, and threw some floo powder into the fire.

"Headmistress's office" Hermione said, no as clear as it could have been.

A few moments later, Minerva McGonagall appeared in the fireplace, looked as stern as usual.

"Miss Granger. How can -"

"Professor " Hermione interrupted "Its Draco, something's wrong. He wont respond, he;s on the couch, and" Hermione paused "I think he's been cursed."

* * *

End Transmission 


	13. and you are

Been a while, but, I got lost in where I was. I have the plot all done, just need to get it filled in.

Disclaimer, I am not JK Rowling. Obviously.

happy Turkey day, for all those fellow Canadians!

* * *

By the time Minerva McGonagall stepped through the Heads fireplace, Hermione was a complete and total wreck. She was pacing the room while wringing her hands, anxiously looking from Draco to the fireplace and back again.

She, the brightest witch of her year, and, truth be told, of her time, was at a loss of what to do. Everything she thought about doing was either completely ridiculous, or, already done. It bothered her to no end that, of all times, Draco had to go and be cursed on the first day of classes. For she was sure, now, that he had in fact been cursed. She knew this without a doubt now, since she had preformed a spell on him, which marked him as such.

Thank Merlin, she paid attention not only in Charms, but at the Hospital wing as well. In a roundabout sort of way, she owed Harry and Ron thanks for constantly doing things to get them send to the hospital wing. Not, of course, that she would ever tell them, or, unless she had to, mention this morning to her best friends at all.

Minerva walked into the room, glancing around to see if there was anyone else in the rooms. Not that she had expected there to be, but, better to be safe then sorry. She rushed over to the couches, to where Draco was, with Hermione at her heels, still wringing her hands in anxiety. Hermione babbled away, saying that this was how she had found him, and that she was sure it was a curse of some sort, but McGonagall ignored her.

Minerva took a close look at Draco, and realized right away that this was, indeed, some sort of Dark magic, and that he needed to be under the care of a trained medi-witch immediately. Without even a glance to Hermione, who was still rambling about something or other, Minerva flicked her wand, with the locomotor spell, and whisked Draco out the fireplace, and, into the hospital wing.

'..prof...' Hermione tried to call after her, but, by the time she finished, her professor was already out the fireplace, with Draco in tow.

Hermione stopped. Did her teacher HONESTLY just walk out on her? Seriously?

She felt conflicting emotions roll through her, simultaneously, but lasting long enough for each to be registered. The main, and, seemingly, the most prevelant, was shock.

Never before, in Hermione's entire time at the school, had Professor McGonagall ever ignored her, the favorite student. In fact, ignoring Snape, which most people tended to do, not one teacher ever ignored her. She didn't even offer any sort of explanation as to where she was going, with Draco, why she had to be so swift about it, and, what in the nine hells was Hermione to do now?

Besides, of course, be completely and utterly shocked. Hermione was, for the second time that morning, at a loss.

She looked around the common room, and her eyes happened to the clock, which showed her that she had less then 15 minutes before her first class.

Shite.

She grabbed her school bag, and dashed out the door, towards the great hall. Damn, she needed coffee!

She made it just in time to class, after nearly burning her tongue off on her coffee which was exactly what she needed. Not that she enjoyed burning her tongue, but, she got the needed coffee, and, for the safety of all, was best. She plopped down beside Harry, who, upon reflection, had never seen Hermione this flustered, or, this late. Not that she was late, this was still Hermione after all, but, normally she was much earlier then this. He looked askance at her, but got nothing more then a look in return.

She unpacked her Transfiguration books, and sat at attention just as Professor Do'Urden walked in the door. The class, having never met this teacher before, nor having heard anything about him-this being the first class, was at complete attention.

"Good Morning class" he said, his voice softer then expected, and with a peaceful quality. "Before beginning the lesson, I think, perhaps, that I should tell you a bit about myself, and, if I'm lucky, learn a little about yourselves as well. This is, I daresay, a small enough class to fit everyone in."

He sat on the edge of his desk, facing the students. This gave the impression of familiarity, and made most of the class feel more at ease. Hermione, however, missed this notion entirely, being too preoccupied trying to figure out what to tell this man about herself. And, of course, the previous events of the morning.

"My name is Alan Do'Urden. I am, as I'm sure you can tell, not English, but in fact Greek. I moved here for school- I attended Beaubaxtons- and then moved on to university overseas in Canada. After graduating, with a degree in both Transfiguration and herbology, I traveled the world, hoping to make things better for everyone. I'm still rather foggy whether or not I succeeded, but, perhaps, time will tell." He stopped, looking at the class-all 12 of them, and smiling. "Normally, I would ask if you had any questions, but, I have the feeling that I have stepped into a class of extremely bright and inquisitive students, so I will forgo that part, and beg your forgiveness. Now, you all know me, to some degree at least, lets hear about yourselves."

The class told Professor Do'Urden about themselves-which Quidditch teams they played or rooted for, what they hoped to study after Hogwarts, or where they were from. The two exceptions from this, were, of course, Hermione and Harry, both of whom had other things to say.

"Good morning, Professor Do'Urden" Hermione started, since, clearly, this man was intelligent, and deserved a proper introduction. Professor McGonagall chose this man for a reason, and Hermione, despite the events of the morning, respected her professor implicitly.

"My name is Hermione Granger. I am Head Girl, for this year, and in Gryffindor house. I am from Muggle parents, who were, sadly, killed this summer, along with my entire family, by Voldemort." students shuddered at the name. Hermione's face changed from one of pure intelligence and calm, to one more angry, fierce. "I want to see the people responsible pay for what they have done, not only to myself, but to all the others out there who are missing family members, friends, relatives."

Hermione sat down, done her speech. She was shocked at the words she had said, and at the anger she felt when she said them, however, she knew them to be complete truth. She just hadn't, until now, of course, admitted it to herself. Upon reflection, she felt a righteous anger, and justification for what she had said. It was the truth, after all. She felt the eyes of all her class mates on her, which made her flush a crimson. She peered back up to Professor Do'Urden, who had not said anything, but was regarding her with a look of pride, admiration and, she detected a hint of fear as well.

She felt something stir beside her.

"My name is Harry Potter, and I am going to help Hermione in whatever way I can." Harry said, and, following that proclamation, sat down again. He looked over at Hermione, and gave her a reassuring smile.

The rest of the class was, relatively uneventful, with little homework. Professor Do'Urden was unlike any teacher they had ever had, with, perhaps, the exception of Professor Lupin. The students packed up their things, talking amongst themselves about how, well, _FUN_ the class had been.

Hermione, however, did not participate in the whispered conversations. Rather, she stuffed her things in her bag, said a quick good-bye to Harry, and dashed out the door, in hunt of the Headmistress.

Hermione weaved her way around the other students, through the corridors, and ran into her former professor outside of the teachers lounge.

"Professor-" Hermione began

"Mrs Granger, I was expecting to see you. As far as Mr. Malfoy is concerned, you should not worry. he has been taken to St. Mungos temporarily to recover. In the meantime, I think that it would be wise for you to forget about it, and concentrate on both your studies, and Head duties, as, I'm sure you figured out, you are the only one currently available."With that, Professor McGonagall marched on her way down the corridor, leaving, for the third time that day, Hermione at a complete loss.


	14. The comfort of what?

Been a while, I know. My apologies.

Disclaimer-Clearly, I am not JK Rowling. Deal with it.

* * *

Hermione settled herself down in the Great Hall, beside Harry and Ron. Ginny was nowhere to be seen, but the popular redhead was most likely held up with friends.

Upon inner reflection, Hermione had never had such an eventful first day at Hogwarts.

Not that it was particularly eventful past the whole Draco fiasco, or, perhaps her Transfiguration class, but, in truth, that was enough for Hermione. She just wanted to go back to her nice common room, sit in front her her fireplace, and start her homework. Nothing like a few solid hours of study to calm the nerves. Not that anyone ever believed her when she said that, but, she had long ago realized that she really wasn't like everyone else.

Not that she cared in the least.

Hermione picked at her Sheppard's pie, listening to Harry retell the story of Transfiguration to Ron, who had, due to a new interest in Divination (thanks to a new crush) dropped transfiguration. Ron was surely regretting his decision right this time, due to the absolute shock that splayed across his face. Although, in all reality, Ron was most likely regretting dropping Transfiguration when the object of his crush walked into Divination class with her new boyfriend.

Hermione let her mind wander, knowing the whole story, seeing as it was about her. Her thoughts instinctively went to Draco Malfoy, Slytherin prince extrodinaire. The blond haired prat, who had been a complete and total dick to her the entire time at Hogwarts.. She wanted to be happy that something terrible had happened to him, but she just couldn't. It wasn't her style, or a personality trait that she shared with Harry and Ron, to say nothing of the rest of the school. She just never really wished bad things to happen to people. Whenever she was angry at someone, she usually made it perfectly clear to them by yelling, in the case of Ron, or punching in the case of Draco. Not that she had made a habit of punching people, even though it had felt fantastic.

But this, what had happened to Draco...Hermione couldn't get the image out of her mind, and, whenever it popped up, she felt supreme pity and compassion towards her arch enemy. Not that she liked that term, it was more of a Harry thing, but there were plenty of times during her school years when she could have called him that.

"Hermione?" Harry said, his voice implying that he had been trying to get her attention for some time now.

"Yeah" Hermione said, startled, wondering how long she had been lost in her thoughts for. This had been happening more frequently since her parents had died, but had started to abate in the last few days.

"I've been trying to get your attention for a while. Are you alright?" Harry asked, worry lighting his emerald eyes.

"I'm perfectly alright. Just zoned out for a minute. What were you saying?" Hermione brushed off the worry of her friend, knowing that he truly did mean the best for her. She just didn't want to tell her two best friends that she was worried about Malfoy. Especially since they didn't realize that she had the right to be worried, after how she found him that morning. To say nothing of his concern at the funeral in the summer.

"I was just asking you who the Head boy was." Harry said, giving her one last look of concern.

Hermione looked at her two friends, trying to figure out how they would react. "Its Draco Malfoy. As we knew it would be, so don't bother acting surprised." She said, with somewhat of a smile, lessening the sting in her words.

Harry and Ron looked about to say something, but at that moment, to Hermione's relief, Ginny showed up, and plopped down at the table beside Harry. The conversation turned back to Quidditch, seeing as they were all members of the Gryffindor Quidditch team, and Hermione tried despretly to follow the conversation.

* * *

Draco woke to the sound of someone shuffling around his room. He knew that he was at Hogwarts, so it couldn't be his mother, or the house elves, so he stayed perfectly still, as his mind worked furiously to figure out who in the hell would invade his space.

Or, as a better question, who the hell figured out the password to his rooms, in such short time.

Draco shifted his body, ever so slightly, so that he could see the intruder. He slid his one eye open-having learned the trick not to be noticed as a child-and looked around the room.

Which was, without a doubt, NOT his room at Hogwarts.

The room was white, pure white, with a pale yellow trim around the middle. There was a curtain on the one side of his bed, and he could see another identical one across the room.

The person that had been shuffling around came into view, and that was when he knew, without a doubt, that he was at St. Mungo's. The woman, rather, the medi-witch, wore a medium length white dress, a white hat atop her brown curls, and flat white shoes. She was checking charts that hung around the room, and added to them, using her wand to check on her patient, whi was hidden from Draco's view from his own curtain.

Draco relaxed, knowing that he was reasonably safe where he was, but knew not to let his guard down, since he still had no idea WHY he was there in the first place. He mentally went over his body, feeling the skin and bone underneath, searching for whatever had brought his here.

His stomach was queasy, his throat was raw, and all of his muscles were sore, as if he had just spent a few hours running rather then sleeping, which is what he suspected he had been doing. He felt the rest of his body, and knew that he was wearing one of those godawful hospital gowns, the ones that if you didn't tie it properly, your arse hung out the back.

The shuffling moved closer to his bed, and he knew that the nurse was coming to check up on him. He opened his eyes, wanting the nurse to know that he was awake, and, more importantly, get some answers. Upon reflection, he was very confused. What in the hell was he doing at St. Mungo's? If he had been hurt, which was fairly apparent, why hadn't he been treated by the nurse at Hogwarts? Did Snape know that he was here? Most likely, since he was head of House. Who had brought him here? Most importantly, WHY had they, whoever they were, brought him here?

"Good Morning Mr. Malfoy" The medi-witch said, breaking into his thoughts. She had brown curls, that went to her shoulders, deep brown eyes, and pert lips, which were smiling down at him.

He stared at her for a few moments, feeling somewhat drawn to her. Or, rather not her, but someone else with brown curls, and darker eyes.

"Good Morning, Miss...?" Draco let the question hang, while trying to figure out why he had thought of Hermione, of all people, at a time like this.

"Miss. Meredith Gentry, but you can call me Merry, if you'ld like." She smiled big and warm at him, which made him feel a bit more at ease. "How are you feeling this morning?"

"I am a little sore, but, I feel alright." Draco figured it would be best to be honest, since she was here to help him. "I have a few questions, actually Merry, would you mind ?"

"Oh, of course!" Merry said, " but I'm going to run my tests while we talk, since I need to get on with getting your breakfast." She pulled her wand out, brought out, what he assumed, was his chart,. and started waving the wand over his body.

"First off, I'd like to know what happened to me to be here in the first place."

"Oh. Hmm. I don't know for sure, which is why we are keeping you here for a few days, but I will tell you what I can. You got here early this morning, by the Headmistress of Hogwarts. She mentioned something about a dark curse, and then you were brought to the curse breaker's ward, a few rooms down actually. As far as I know, the healers got most of the curse out, but some of it lingers, like a bad cold, which is why you are here, rather then back at school, under the care of the nurse there." The wand still moved up and down his body, displaying different colors, and patterns, and she wrote it all down.

"What was the symptoms when I arrived?" had he been comatose? That would have been ideal, for all involved.

"You were convulsing, and I saw your face. It was a mask of pain and terror. I wont deny it, I will never forget the sheer anguish on your face." She looked at him seriously. "We all thought you were a goner."

"Did the Headmistress mention who had, erm, found me?" Draco had absolutly no recollection of the previous night, so he was not sure who had, in fact, found him. For all he knew, he might have walked right into the Great Hall, raving.

"I remembering hearing that it was the Head Girl." Merry said, distracted.

Hermione had found him? Found him convulsing?

Son of a bitch.

* * *

end transmission 


	15. Dreams and Ideas

Disclaimer-Im not JK Rowling, although Id love to be.

I know, its taking FOREVER for this to be a romance, but, its getting there. Id like to get all that, you know, PLOT out of the way first :P

* * *

Hermione woke to a scream.

It wasn't until she was sitting up completely that she realized that she had been the one screaming. With that realization, the dream, nay, nightmare came flooding back to her in all its gory details.

It was, of course, like all of her other nightmares of late, about the death of her family. But, normally, in her dreams, she just relived the complete and utter horror of the experience, which was terrifying enough. This dream had been different, though, more terrible, more real.

Rather then just being a spectator to the aftermath of the massacre, she had been part of it. Part of the ones murdering her family. But she hadn't been alone, yet, not with the Death eaters. That she was sure of. Even in her dreams, she was afraid of them. But this dream, she hadn't been.

It dawned on her, while she thought about it, that she was not afraid, since she had been with friends. Flashes of Ginny and Ron killing... Draco had been there too, helping her, but, not. The thought of Draco being there, scared her, and, at the same time, caused something in her stomach to flutter about, almost as if she needed to throw up.

It was confusing, and, more so scary. She was terrified to her very core, and, in part, shocked at her subconscious mind for coming up with such things. She also felt a little dirty and tainted, as if the dream lingered more then she cared for. As if, secretly, this is what she had wished when she was upset, or angry at her parents, during her adolescence. Which was, of course, not true at all.

She wondered if she should get up and have a shower, in hopes to feel clean, or try to sleep more. She was dead tired, but, at the same time, she wasn't entirely sure that she even COULD sleep now. Maybe the dream would continue to haunt her, and she would go deeper and deeper into it. Perhaps, that would be all she dreamed about for the next few nights, or, perhaps, she would always have that nightmare, haunting her.

Maybe she would realize that she really was, in all actuality, a bad person.

Hermione shook her head, as if trying to rid herself of the very idea. It was completely absurd. She wasn't a bad person, she just had some bad things happen to her, that's all. I mean, surely, she could be forgiven if she was a tad bitter. If she, perhaps, trusted people a lot less then she had in the past. Surely that didn't make her a bad person. Right? Sure, she had gotten to know her parents, and family well before they were all killed off, unlike Harry, but wasn't that worse? If not, wasn't it still good enough reason to be flaming mad about the whole ordeal?

She crawled out of bed, and checked the time. 4:38am. What an ungodly time at night, or, rather, morning. She absolutely hated seeing this time in the morning, and ones close to it. It made her realize how much she loved, and appreciated, and, mostly, NEEDED her sleep.

She got completely out of bed, and padded over to her bathroom, deciding a drink might help calm her nerves enough to go back to bed for a few hours.

Merlin knows, she needed it.

* * *

Draco was in and out of sleep, and had been for the past 2 hours. It seemed that every time he finally felt true sleep reach out its hands, to carry him away to unconsciousness, something grabbed him, and tore him awake. This had happened before, which was one of the reasons he had started taking sleeping potions. They had helped, and, eventually, weaned himself off of them completely. Then, the nightmares began.

He wanted sleep, if only to calm his mind from thoughts of her. And, of course, other things. She was just paramount in his mind right now, seeing as how the previous (or was it.?) morning had unfolded.

He only prayed to Merlin that it wasn't as bad as he thought it was. Not that convulsing looked good anytime, but, hopefully, there wasn't anything TOO bad.

He rolled over in his sleep, the muscles straining and hurting him with every inch moved. Gods, he was sore!

He had talked to his main doctor that afternoon, and the prognosis was good. He would be back to normal within a few days, back at Hogwarts by the following Monday.

Now, as to what caused him to be here in the first place? That was a bit tricky, since dark curses are generally hard to trace. It was, however, agreed upon by most of the specialists (it pays to be a Malfoy-most of the top dark curse specialists were consulted on this) that it came from the dreamless sleep potion that Draco had consumed the same night.

After that, it was all speculation, and Draco wasn't about to help them figure it out. He had is own suspicions, that included his father and...well, it actually ended at his father. Who else would be so malicious and uncaring as Lucius? No one, that's who.

His theory went something like this-Lucius did, in fact, escape from prison, without the Daily Prophet being notified, and came home. He was pretty sure that his mother was as unaware of this, as he had been. She surely would have mentioned something, since she was in as much danger as he was. He placed a dark curse upon the dreamless sleep potion that he was going to take to Hogwarts, to get him out of the way.

What Draco couldn't figure out was WHY he needed to be out of the way. He knew that the Dark Lord wasn't happy with him, but, he had been properly punished for that. Besides, it wasn't entirely his fault.

A thought struck him at that exact moment, which made Draco sure that sleep would not claim him.

What is the Dark Lord knew that Hermione had survived the attack?

* * *

end transmission 


	16. Recklessness

Disclaimer-I am no JK Rowling, and these are her characters. Im just playing with them.

* * *

"Awake, I see. Good"

Draco jumped from the bed, his adrenaline shooting through his sick, sore body, forcing his muscles awake, and to be ready.

He turned his head, a wandless spell ready on his lips, to see his intruder. To see who could possible walk so lightly to surprise the paranoid Malfoy so much. To see who actually knew about him being here, in this hospital.

His eyes took in the long dark greasy hair, the small beaded black eyes, and the hooked nose. The robes were long and black, and high necked, with more buttons then were really necessary.

Snape. Severus Snape, famed English potions master, Death eater, and former professor of Hogwarts.

"Good day, Snape. To what do I owe this pleasure?" Draco said, his voice smooth like silk, as his father taught him. As this very man had encouraged and, sometimes, enforced.

Snape sneered. This little upstart...Snape calmed himself. It was important that he do as the Dark Lord wished. No one lived to go against the Dark Lord. The former headmaster was the prime, and often used, example of this. This was nothing but a favour, to a long time friend.

"I am here, at your mother's request, to see how you are faring. When the hospital owled with the news that you had been brought here, why, she was a mess. I am simply here to see for myself." Snape said, moving to sit on the empty chair beside the bed. He did not plan on staying for very long. However, it had been a long, tedious day, and his body would protest otherwise.

"I see. Tell me, Snape, why could my mother not come herself."

"She is, I am afraid, currently indisposed." Snape sneered.

The two men staried at eachother, neither giving ground. They had always had a sort of animosity filled friendship between them, but, now, things had changed. They changed during the fight in the Hogwarts tower, and they had changed more so, when they were seen by the Dark Lord, at the last meet. Something had never clicked back into place after that. But, then again, why should it have? Things have finally been decided, in a way, at least.

"I see. I am doing just fine, and you can report that back to my mother." Draco said, his voice cold with scorn. His mother, indisposed. what else was new? Of course her only son, and heir, wasn't good enough to warrent a in person visit. No, she was likely out seeing one of her friends, or maybe even Lucius.

Merlin forbid cancelling a plan to see her own goddamn son.

Draco was angry. He had not realized it before, but he knew it without a doubt now. He was pissed. Not just a little, but a lot. He was, in a word, furious.

He was sitting here, in this hospital, with gods knew what curse thrown at him, as far as he knew, he almost died, and emabressed himself terribly in fron of Hermione, and could his mother, his own FUCKING mother, come see him?

No. Of course not. It wasn't like he came from her own body or anything. It wasn't like he mattered to her, he hadn't before, he didnt now. Why would anything change.

Draco was depressed. Depressed, and angry. He wished a lot of things from his life, wished that he had been born from other parents, brought up in a different manner, but, alas, not to be. He missed all those years of learning, and exploring, and mostly, friendship, bring a dick. He was, at the time, his father's son, without a doubt.

But now. Now he knew better. He wanted to become something that was more akin to _him, _something more real, more human. He didn't know how to go about it, but, he would try.

However

First things first. He had to get rid of Snape, who was, for whatever reason, giving him a rather potent glare.

"Malfoy, Draco. Your mother would like more of a report then that, as I'm sure you are aware. I would like some details, if it isnt so difficult." Why was this child so difficult?

"I'm afraid, Snape, that it is that difficult. You see, I was cursed, end of story. Im here, I am, luckily, getting better, and will be out of here within the week. That is what I know, and that is what you can tell Mother." Draco was crisp, his voice betraying his desire to be alone, to be without this man, at the least.

"Now, if you please, I am not yet fully recovered, and need to rest."

Snape looked visably shocked, but the look was fleeting, to be replaced with the customary scowl.

"Of course, Draco. Get your rest. I shall come see you again soon." and with that, Snape left in a cloud of billowing cloaks and temper.

Draco, was, in all honesty, not at all restful. He was angry, and bold, and this was not a good combination. Not at all. In fact, Draco tended to be right recklass when he was in a mood like this. Generally, it did not tend to bode well for himself, and whoever the recipient happened to be.

At this time, there was only one person who could not only help him with exploring himself, but, perhaps, make him feel better.

In this fit of recklessness, which Draco would, as most people who are struck with this mental state, of course, regret this almost as soon as he had done it, he jumped out of bed.

Handy that St. Mungo's was blessed with fireplaces all around, to floo family, loved ones and employers.

Also, equally handy (although, as mentioned, equally regretful) that there was a aformentioned fireplace right in the comfort of his own room. Complete with floo powder.

Draco, who would begin the regret in about 2 minutes, grabbed some floo powder in his hands, brarely feeling the soft, yet grainy powder, and threw it into the fireplace. He quickly glanced around at the rest of the room, assuring himself that the other occupants were sleeping, and that Snape was, in fact, gone.

He turned back to the fireplace, the fire purple and gree in anticipation of the spoken address, and called

"Head Girls room, Hogwarts"

* * *

end transmission 


	17. The promise of something

DISCLAIMER-i am not JK Rowling. Never have been, likely, never will be.

Sorry about the long wait, but I just moved cross country (toronto to vancouver) and i have yet to get my computer here. Enjoy!

* * *

Hermione was at her desk, as usual, doing her homework. It was Potions homework that Snape had given them, 3 feet of parchment on the properties of blood stone due next class. Hermione was just finishing it up when the fireplace in her room flared blue. She jumped with surprise.

Who in Merlins name would be trying to floo her?

It was the middle of the day. Both Harry and Ron had class, she was also fairly certain that Ginny did as well.

She got up from her desk and walked to the fireplace. She was curious as to who it was, as her mind filtered through the names of people who it might be, dismissing each as it popped up.

She was still at a complete loss when she reached the fireplace. She uncharmed the fireplace-Merlin knew she didn't want just anyone walking through when she was changing-and seeing who it was, fainted dead away.

Brilliant.

Just fucking brilliant, Draco though. I came to tell the chit that I needed her help, and to tell her the truth about how I feel, and she faints. Women.

Draco pondered the current predicament he'd gotten himself into. He was stuck at St. Mungos, recovering from Merlin knew what spell, his mother didn't have the balls to come see him, Snape (he was guessing on this one) was trying to meddle in his affairs, and now, the girl he wanted to help him had fainted.

Brilliant.

It was frustrating, to say the least. First Snape, his mother, and then Hermione.

If he could get through the damn fireplace, he'd make sure that she was alright, revive her, perhaps, but St. Mungos didn't trust its patients not to run. It was a one way only

thing, in this place.

Draco paced across the floor.

Already, he was regretting calling her. What was he supposed to do when she came to? Why, and this was important, did he call her in the first place? And that bit earlier, about hoe he truly felt about her-what DID he fell for her? Sure, he wanted to get to know her, of course he was attracted to her, she was bloody gorgeous, how could be not be attracted?

But, beyond that, he didn't know.

Whenever he tried to figure it out for himself, his mind closed down, and his heart began to race. The proverbial butterflies took off in his stomach, making him feel ill, but in a vaguely pleasant way. He got hot skin, and his breathing increased. The first time it happened, he worried about a fever, but, as soon as he started thinking about it, and not about Hermione, he went back to normal.

"Draco…."

"Quiet, I'm still thinking" Draco barked.

How did he truly feel about her? He knew about the butterflies, which were currently making an appearance, but..

"Draco, for Merlins sake." Hermione snapped at him crossly.

Draco turned to find the object of his butterfly inducing thoughts still on the floor, but fully conscious and fully angry.

Wait.

Didn't he just tell her to shut up?

Fuck.

"Granger. Hermione. Sorry that I spooked you. I had no intentions of doing that." Draco said, trying, he knew unsuccessfully, to regain some sort of control in the conversation. She was pissed, and, moreso, confused. He could see it in her honey eyes, which flickered between confusion, anger and a little bit of pain.

"I hope you are alright from the fall." Draco said, putting the concern he felt into his voice. It sounded strange, even to his own ears. He almost never cared about anyone, and had never expressed it before. His parents made sure that he never felt this. In fact, they made sure that he never felt anything but contempt for anyone, especially one that was Muggle born. It was a new feeling for him, one that he would have to remember, especially when dealing with Hermione.

"Oh…yes. I'm alright." Was the response. Hermione faltered. She was as puzzled now as she was when she saw that it was Draco at her fireplace. It was a shock to her system, one that brought on a flurry of different feelings.

She was vaguely queasy as if her stomach had decided to go dancing without the rest of her body. She was also completely baffled as to WHY Draco was here. It made absolutely no sense, no matter what way she looked thought about it. Draco was staring at her, and she realized, belatedly, that he had said something.

"I'm sorry, what was that?" she asked, still reeling from the flurry of emotion.

"I said that I am glad you are alright."

Draco looked down at his feet. This was insane. What was he supposed to say to her now? He called on her, afterall. He couldn't leaveThankfully, she spoke, breaking the very awkward silence.

"I'm glad to see that you are doing better." Hermione said. She wanted to know what had happened to him, but, didn't want to press him. She still had no idea why he was here, or, rather, at St. Mungos, afterall.

"Do you think you'll be back to school sometime soon?"

"A few days" Draco replied coolly. Inside his mind was in a frenzy. What in the bloody hell was he supposed to say to her? Could he tell her the truth? What was the truth? The truth about his father, or about the butterflies that was still tumbling around his stomach. He certainly couldn't just leave, she was looking at him expectantly.

Fuck.

There was only one thing he could do. He knew that he would, most likely, regret this as well, but, he needed her help. He wanted to be normal, or, as normal as possible.

"Hermione, would you come here? I would like to talk to you, and it may take some time"

He saw Hermione hesitate, and, understanding why, added "I promise that I will not hurt you. You'll be safe here."

Still she hesitated.

"Please?"

Hermione smiled

"Alright."

* * *

end transmission 


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